Never Meant to Be Part Four
by teecrushfic
Summary: Part Four of a quartet of stories, plus epilogue. Complete. AU, angst, suicide attempt, character death. Not cheery or fluffy. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are meant to be...aren't they? Then why, why, why does it never work out? Ever?


**Never Meant To Be – Part IV**

**Two years later…**

"Thanks for going with me tonight, mate; I know it's not your scene."

"No problem. I owe you, and besides, who knows, there MIGHT be some hot girls there."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, but watch out – they might just be very pretty MEN."

Ron shrugged and finished off his beer, crushing the can and pitching it into the garbage can across the kitchen. He immediately took another one out of the refrigerator and popped the tab, drinking deeply.

Harry came out of the bedroom, tucking in his shirt. "Keep that up and you're going to be completely pissed before we even leave the house."

"That's the plan, mate; you don't think I'm going to a gay bar sober, do you?"

"Good point. Toss me one, will you?" Harry caught it easily with one hand and slowly opened it over the sink, licking the escaped foam off the top. Ron watched, amused. "Do that a couple of times at the bar, and you'll have more attention than you know what to do with."

Harry grinned. "Tongue is a much-underrated skill."

"You're not kidding." Ron took another gulp. "Have anyone special in mind to snag tonight?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope, just browsing. I just hate to go alone and Seamus is sure that he's found his next big love- and he hates for Seamus to go out without him, so…"

"I'm the lucky one tonight. Good enough. And hell, it beats staying home."

"Or shagging Hermione?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"She's, um, indisposed this week." Ron blushed.

"Ah…can't say that I'm sorry to miss out on that."

"True…at least guys don't rag it. Ready?"

"I guess so." Harry grabbed his jacket and checked it for his ID (because at 25, he still got carded) money and smokes – all there.

Ron was at the door, tossing his keys up and down in the air. "You are **not** driving," said Harry firmly, grabbing them mid air. "You're already three sheets to the wind, as they say. I'll drive."

Ron shrugged. "Whatever, mate."

The bar was already in full swing when they walked in; dim lights, pulsing music, the air smoky and dank. Ron looked around at the gyrating men on the dance floor and immediately headed for the bar to start drinking heavily. Harry watched the red head move through the crowd and was amused to see that he was approached twice on the way to the bar, and that a heavy set biker type wasted no time claiming the seat beside him. Ron had no idea what he was in for. It'd do him good.

Harry turned his coat over to the lithe bleached blond at the door, transferring its items to his jeans pocket, then politely declined the boy's offer of a blow job and turned to the crowd.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for tonight; casual encounters were fine, but lately, he'd found himself wishing that one of these meetings might turn into something more…yet any mention of a second date usually sent him into a flurry of excuses and ended in him shutting the door of his home and leaning against it, relieved.

He shouted an order to the bartender, who looked him over, interested, then handed Harry his drink with a little more contact than was absolutely necessary…and his number written on the coaster. Harry smiled and found an empty table away from the dance floor where he could watch the crowd. He lit a cigarette and sipped his drink.

Ron stumbled over and nearly fell into the chair across from him. "Can I have one of those, mate?"

"You don't smoke," Harry reminded him.

"No, but I can wave it around and maybe get a little personal space. Jesus! I've had four offers to get blown, an invitation to a threesome, and one marriage proposal…and we've been here what, 15 minutes?"

Harry cracked up laughing. "You're just so fucking irresistible, Weasley."

"Fred and George oughta be here…they'd have some fun with these guys."

"A ready-made threesome…who could resist?"

"Yeah…give me your mobile, willya?"

"Don't have it on me. C'mon Ron, you're a big boy. You can handle a few good men."

"Oh…and five requests to show and tell how big my cock is. And I thought women were bad! Wait till Mione hears about this! She's already ticked that she had to work tonight and missed this."

Harry imagined Hermione taking notes on gay male behavior for a scholarly journal and snickered. "Biker boy's looking for you."

"Ah, fuck me," Ron muttered, standing up and holding onto the chair for support.

"Love to, sweetheart…five minutes in the back room?" An obviously drunken Goth-type boy stood next to Ron, smiling sappily.

"Uhhh…maybe later. But thanks!" Ron beat a hasty retreat back to the bar.

Harry shook his head and had just lit another cigarette when it was taken from his fingers and an all-too familiar voice said in his ear "Don't tell me that Weasley's finally admitted the inevitable to himself."

Harry's shoulders stiffened and he said almost to himself. "You aren't supposed to be here."

Draco slid into the seat opposite him and smiled. "Where am I supposed to be, then?"

"Anywhere but here…or wherever I am. Isn't that what the restraining order said?"

"That's nice, Potter. It's a pleasure to see you too." Draco blew a perfect smoke ring towards the ceiling and they both watched as it dissipated under the lights.

"I could never do that."

"That's because you lack the inborn elegance to do so."

"No, it's because I had better things to do with my time than lay around on the couch and chain smoke." Harry took a long gulp of his drink, biting his lip as the alcohol coursed through him.

Draco snorted. "No, you chose to sit up at a desk and chain smoke." He looked at the ashtray, "which I see you are doing once again. How long did you last?"

"None of your fucking business."

"I see your manners haven't improved in the past two years." Draco took a long drag and exhaled, looking around. "Where's the partner?"

"What?"

"Chris."

Harry looked at him. "Chris was a long time ago."

"Didn't work out, huh?" Draco tried to mask the sudden glee in his voice, but Harry gave him a hard look anyway. "Not that it should matter to you…but no. And you aren't supposed to care who I'm with anyway."

"Since when?" The blond eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"Since I told you, in no uncertain terms that we were over. OVER. Remember that little exchange?" Harry leaned back and looked him over, waging a mental battle with himself. "Never mind, I'm not getting into anything with you, now or ever. Goodbye." He stood up and unfortunately, had to move behind Draco to get out. Damn his need to sit back to a wall.

Draco pushed his chair back and stood up so they were face to face, and took Harry's arm, holding it firmly enough so that he couldn't get loose without considerable effort. Harry looked down at Draco's hand on him, then up again.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Draco? What do you want?" Harry hated the edge of desperation that had crept into his voice. Draco always had this effect on him. Would he never learn?

"A night out on the town…same as you."

"I heard you'd gone to the States."

"I did for a while…but then circumstances brought me back to Britain and here I am."

"What circumstances would those be?" Harry was proud that he'd managed to get his voice under control and that he sounded just as bored as Malfoy.

A fact which was swiftly shot to hell by Malfoy's next words.

"I missed you."

"You missed me."

"Yes."

Draco was watching him closely. Harry dropped his eyes and dug into his pocket for a smoke.

Draco held out the cigarette he'd stolen. "Want this?"

"No; I don't need your sloppy seconds. I've had those before."

Malfoy sighed and crushed out the butt. "Harry, don't, ok? Give me the benefit of the doubt. "

"Why?" Harry glared at him, and damn, those eyes were as intense as ever. Draco felt the familiar stirring in his groin and shifted. Should he chance it? Had enough time passed so that Harry might have possibly…

Fuck it. He had to try. He had to, one last time. If not now, then never again. This was the promise he'd made to himself.

"Because I came back across a fucking ocean to tell you that I made the biggest goddamn mistake of my life when I got scared and wrecked what we had. Because I missed being with you. Because nothing – nothing in my life has been worth shit without you. Because every guy I see becomes you, but they aren't you. You're all I want, and shit, Harry…I know myself so much better now than before. I know, I KNOW I've said this before, but I need you. I want you. I can't be without you, not anymore, not ever again.

I love you."

If Draco was hoping for a similar declaration from the man across from him, or for those eyes to soften and the mouth to turn upwards, inviting him to kiss it…he was sorely disappointed.

"Fuck off Malfoy." Harry twisted his arm hard and brought his other hand down on Draco's wrist – hard, causing him to utter a surprised yelp of pain - and turned towards the bar to find Ron.

By the time he reached the bar, his hands were shaking and he gripped the sticky edge of the rail to steady them. Ron was being chatted up by no less then three men, all of who seemed to be buying him shots. Lovely.

"You ok, mate?" asked the bartender. "Need a shoulder?"

"No…thanks. I do need another whiskey though; a double, please."

The bartender nodded and poured the drink, which Harry finished off in two gulps.

"Again."

Another double appeared in front of him, though the bartender…whose name was, improbably, Chris…looked concerned. "That's pretty high-octane, friend. Sure you can handle it?"

Sour irony rose in his throat. He could save civilization as they knew it, but didn't appear to be able to hold his liquor anymore. How ironic…one measly overdose and his tolerance went to hell.

"I'm fine." His tone was curt, and the bartender eyed him and backed off. "Your funeral."

Yeah, no shit. The last time Malfoy had left him there'd nearly been one, 'cause Harry nearly killed himself.

That fucker…saying he loved him. Harry never carried his wand anymore, but he almost wished he had it tonight…a few moments of watching Malfoy writhe under Crucio would have almost made up for a lot of things.

Saying he'd finally _changed_. Saying he _needed_ him. His hand tightened around the glass and he had to consciously let go before shards of glass shot into the glittering lights above.

Harry downed his third whiskey in record time, and swayed a little on his feet as the alcohol hit him. He looked down at Ron, who was protesting (to little avail, it looked like) that he was straight and had a girlfriend at home to prove it. Mione really would be pissed off to have missed this, he decided. Too bad he couldn't floo her here or something.

He had to pee, and damned if the bathroom didn't look like a hell of a long way off. He shook his head and tried letting go of the bar to see if he could walk. He could…barely. Enough to get across the room anyway…that stuff **did **pack a helluva punch.

He started towards the bathroom, but midway there, he knew he had a problem. Stumbling onto the dance floor, he found himself crunched between various men in various outfits and stages of undress…and who seemed intent on undressing him as well.

"Sorry…oops…'scuse me…I said, get your fucking hands off me!"

He finally made it in, and pulled down his jeans in front of the closest urinal. He leaned his head against the cool tile and sighed.

"Now that's a sight I've missed."

Harry looked up and scowled. "Didn't I already tell you to fuck off and die?"

"I must have missed the "die" part. Sorry, but can't do that tonight. Fucking off, yeah…dying, no."

"Why won't you go away already?"

"Because you're drunk off your ass, and about," he looked at his Bulgari watch, "Eleven minutes from vomiting. Come on, Potter; let me get you home. I'll even drop the Weasel off, just because I'm feeling generous. So zip up that stunning cock of yours and let's go." Draco held out his hand.

Harry ignored it and zipped up, stepping away from the urinal with difficulty. "I can find my own way home. Don't need you. **Never** needed you, you lying fuckwit."

Harry took a deep breath (Draco was right about tossing being imminent, but fucked if he was going to let on) and walked…if one could call it that…out the door. Draco stood in the bathroom a moment longer, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He decided that neither would be a great idea at the moment, and followed Harry out, trying not to smile as he watched the love of his life make his way clumsily across the floor. He'd be damned if he was going to let Potter drive anywhere…and as for Weasley, forget it. He was shitfaced and probably getting felt up by a committee at the bar.

Harry was working on his fourth double when Draco reached him. He waited till Harry swallowed, then took the glass out of his hands. "No more for you," he said firmly, taking Harry by the upper arm. "We're going home."

"Not going…anywhere with… you. You suck." The words were starting to slur. Dammit. He had nearly forgotten that Harry was cute as hell when he was drunk. He usually got clingy and affectionate, whereas Draco merely got horny. It was a combination that had worked very well in the past. Hostile Harry was something new…but still cute. Shit.

This was not the first time he'd tended to a drunken Harry and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

"I do suck, and amazingly well, as you know. But right now, the last thing on my mind is sucking anything, so let's go, loverboy."

Harry refused to budge, glaring at him, and Draco sighed inwardly. He DID still carry his wand, and he COULD use it if he had to, but this was a Muggle establishment. "Fine. I'll get Weasley then and you can stand here till you fall over and someone pulls your pants down and has their evil way with you. Suit yourself."

"Selfish bastard," Harry muttered.

Draco ignored him and pushed his way into the throng that now surrounded Ron. "Well, well, Weasley…finally seen the light, have we? Admitted your latent homosexuality? Now if you'll only learn to NOT wear black socks with brown shoes you'll be…"

"Huh…oh, Malfoy. Hey, wait…Malfoy? What the fuck…does Harry know you're here?" Ron vaguely thought he should be angry at the git in front of him…really angry…but couldn't quite remember why at the moment.

"We've spoken," replied Draco dryly. "He can't drive, and you sure as hell can't so I'm taking you home to Granger and him back to his place. Finish your beer, collect all your phone numbers, and let's go."

Amidst a chorus of "call me's you hot redheaded slut," Ron departed, waving cheerfully at his admirers. "They were nice, huh? Who knew gays were such cool guys?"

"It's a revelation," said Draco, sighing. He hated it when he had several bitingly sarcastic answers available and couldn't use any of them. What a waste.

Harry hadn't drunk any more, but his eyes had that glassy look that Draco knew precluded puking, crying, retching, and finally a miserable Harry sleeping in the bathtub. He'd always been a cheap drunk, even at school. Half a bottle of Ogden's, and Harry was anyone's for the taking – even though Malfoy would have beaten the crap out of anyone who tried, because Potter was HIS – and ¾ of a bottle meant kisses galore, and finally, a whole bottle meant a night spent rubbing a certain someone's back as he vomited and swore, wailing loudly that he'd never drink again.

Good times…good times. Of course, that was before Harry became an accomplished drinker for a while…but apparently those days were in the past. Cute drunk or not, Draco was just as glad.

"Grab his other arm, Weasley," instructed Draco. Weasley, could, at least, hold his liquor, for which Draco was grateful. One on each side, they guided Harry out the door – stopping to collect his jacket on the way – and into the cold night air.

Draco considered his options…should they Apparate and hope that Harry didn't toss on impact, or should he drive them in his Benz and risk Harry not giving him notice enough to pull over?

Fuck it. Apparating was quicker.

On cue, a moment after arriving at Weasley's, Harry was in the bushes. Draco sighed as he pulled out his handkerchief and waited for Harry to be done. Meanwhile, Ron (having forgotten his keys) was banging on the door and shouting drunkenly for "Mione! Hey Mione! C'mere!"

"For god's sake, Ronald…you're going to wake everyone on the block up…again!" Hermione opened the door and Draco was surprised to see that Granger was actually looking good. Even for this time at night. She looked up and caught sight of him, her mouth losing its smile, to be replaced with the tight-lipped look he was much more familiar with. "Malfoy…I didn't realize you were back from the US so soon."

"Granger…you're looking well."

"Thank you. Ron, where's Harry?" A retching sound from the bushes answered her question. She sighed. "Not again…why did you let him drink so much?"

"I didn't! Barely saw him, Mione. Ask Malfoy." He reached over the steps to grab Harry's shirt. "You okay, mate?" A mumble was his only reply.

"Good God…get him in here, I'll make coffee. Thank God none of us have to work tomorrow." She looked at Draco, and said with considerable effort "Care for coffee, Malfoy?"

"That's kind of you; yes please."

She looked briefly suspicious at his pleasant tone, no doubt understanding that it was as much effort for him as it was to her. He felt a pang of regret; they had been friendly…once.

Ron had managed to drag a greenish Harry from the shrubbery and was half carrying-half dragging him up the stairs. Draco took his other side again, and together, they got him into the kitchen, where Hermione, an old pro at handling drunken boys, had already wet a cloth to wipe Harry up, which she did, as though to a messy two year old. She waved a cleaning bucket over next to his chair and gave stern instructions to USE IT if he felt the need to vomit. He nodded, looking miserable.

The coffee was steaming hot and surprisingly good. He and Granger had a noncommittal conversation about latte types and brands, and the virtues of grinding your own beans versus buying them ready-packaged. During this, Ron merely stuck his face in his cup and drank, and Harry sipped, looking like he wished the night had never happened.

At length, Harry started to light a cigarette, and Hermione snatched it out of his mouth. "No smoking in here, Harry; you know that. If you must, go outside."

Harry sighed and got up, moving a bit more fluidly than he had at the club. Draco excused himself to follow him, and once outside, sat down on the steps and lit his own cigarette, watching Harry struggle a bit to do the same. Draco didn't offer to help. He didn't feel much like being cursed at, surprisingly enough.

The two smoked in silence for a bit, neither acknowledging each other, yet very aware of the other's presence.

"I suppose I should thank you for getting me out of there." Harry's voice was tired, and still a bit slurred.

Draco shrugged. "I figured you'd rather puke your guts up in familiar surroundings."

To his surprise, Harry smiled faintly. "I do have a habit of doing that, don't I?"

"Always have. It's rather comforting, though…like knowing the sun will always rise in the east."

A faint snort of laughter was his reward. "My saying thank you doesn't mean that anything you said at the club changes things."

"What will change things then, Harry?"

"Nothing will. You nearly fucking wrecked me, you know that? And I promised myself that I wouldn't ever give you that power over me, or that chance, again. And I won't. So you can say **I love you Harry** all you want. It means NOTHING. I don't give a shit anymore."

"So you don't believe in second chances, then?" Draco was treading carefully.

Harry laughed bitterly. "Sure I do…but this would be the fourth chance for you, and like the Muggles say in baseball…three strikes and you're out. So that's it for you."

"When did '_I love you'_ become meaningless to you?"

Harry crushed out his smoke and looked down at Draco a few steps above him. "When you looked at the destruction you caused to my life and could still walk away from me."

Draco winced. One thing that Harry had always been a bit too good at was getting straight to the heart of the matter. "YOU told ME that you'd been wrong and we weren't meant to be - YOU sent me away. I didn't walk anywhere but off your porch."

Harry stood up. "I'm going home. I appreciate you getting me here, but I'm going alone. Don't follow me. I mean it."

Draco spread his hands. "I'm not stalking you, Potter. I respect your choice."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." He went back into the house for his jacket and Draco heard low voices before he came back out, shrugging into the leather sleeves. Draco had bought him that jacket after a particularly venomous fight and he was surprised that Harry still had it.

"'Despite its dubious origin, it's still my favorite jacket," said Harry without looking at him. "Plus, it's warm. Good night."

"Good night, Potter." Draco watched until the figure became tiny and he couldn't see it anymore. Then he bid the other two good night and walked home himself.

& & &

The twentieth or so piece of paper missed the trash basket and landed on the floor with the rest of its cohorts.

Harry sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He still felt like crap from last night, and nothing was coming to him. He made himself sit down and write every morning, whether the ideas came or not. Sometimes he was lucky and he'd get a good few hours in before the brain freeze set in.

This was not one of those times.

He looked around. The piles of paper on his desk were threatening to topple over, there were at least eight Diet Coke bottles strewn about, and several chocolate bar wrappers; the ashtray was close to overflowing. A layer of smoggy air hung over the room, dust and stale smoke.

What a health nut he'd become….again. Maybe Draco wasn't the only one who never learned.

Getting up, he went to the window and opened it wide, not caring about the rain that pattered outside. He stuck his head out and breathed deeply, resolving for the millionth time to quit smoking for good before his lungs turned to coal. He dumped the ashtray and tossed the bottles into the recycling bin and then stood over the wastebasket to read a week's worth of mail, most of which joined the day's efforts in the trash bin.

He'd had a shower when he woke up this morning, but another one was sounding good to him.

He stripped in the bathroom, noting with disgust that he had circles under his eyes and that his skin looked pasty. Out of habit, he looked to his left, at the other sink and imagined he saw all of Draco's stuff there, "all your girly rubbish," as Harry had called it…until the day he discovered that the heinously expensive moisturizer Draco ordered from Switzerland really DID firm and tone.

He still used it occasionally; the only reminder of Draco that he allowed himself.

He turned up the temperature to as hot as he could stand it, and stood there for a while, letting the heat invade his muscles, letting his shoulders drop and his body relax. However, after a few moments, a different part of his body made its presence known.

_Hi!_

Shit.

Unbidden, images of a certain blond former schoolmate and lover came to mind. He tried to imagine someone else – anyone else – but it was useless. Unwillingly, his hand reached down to stroke, finding the rhythm…Draco's rhythm…and for a moment, he wasn't alone in the shower, he wasn't alone in his house, in his bed, in his life.

He came with a whimper and he was glad to be in the shower, where all evidence was erased.

He emerged and toweled off, wiping the rivulets of water off his face and body and wrapping himself in his old Gryffindor robe. It was ratty and had shrunk over the years, but it was the most comforting piece of clothing that he owned and he'd never get rid of it.

Plus, it still smelled like a certain someone, no matter how many times he washed it..

He wandered into the bedroom, the first room he'd changed upon moving in. The walls were still bare, painted flat white, with basic blinds covering the windows. Even the bedding was white. He'd felt like starting over and hadn't paid attention when everyone stated it looked more like a tomb than a bedroom – which it could have well been.

He didn't remember much about that night, except for voices coming from far away, lights in his eyes and the sound of Hermione crying in the background.

And Draco…Draco leaning over the stretcher anxiously, saying his name over and over until Harry wanted to scream at him to stop…and found he couldn't.

Then, coming out of anesthesia, he found that he could, however, manage to tell the nurses to not let Draco in to see him. Draco thought he hated him…and he did. But he also couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes when the other man looked down on him in his misery.

That was what Draco leaving you did to you…you might have survived the onslaught of an evil dark wizard and his cadre of Death Eaters, but a gray-eyed Slytherin was enough to make you wish you were dead.

Now the Slytherin was back.

And he loved him again. He said.

Sure he did.

Fucker.

Harry shucked his robe and slid into bed, not caring that it was barely noon.

Malfoy was out there somewhere.

He was back.

& & &

Draco wasn't in much better shape. He wasn't hung over and he wasn't in bed, damp and curled into a fetal position; but he was also remembering a time when he didn't feel alone.

Harry had looked good last night…well, up until the puking. But Draco didn't care, because it was Harry and he was always beautiful to him.

He'd fucked up…he knew it. He'd known it from the second he staggered into his own living room and realized that he had left Harry when Harry was baring everything to him – literally. When he was sharing some of the greatest shame and sorrow of his life…and he had run. He had sat down on his couch, dry-eyed, not even able to cry, and KNOWN. Known it was the end. Known he had finally done something unforgivable.

And when he had felt the sick wave of unease wash over him, he'd known that Harry knew it too.

Finding Harry on the floor, seeing the blank and empty look in those green eyes had finally broken through to him, destroyed and blown down the last walls and he knew that what he wanted, more than anything in the world, was for Harry to come back to him.

His trip to the US had been flight, nothing more. He needed to get away from all the places that he and Harry had frequented, spent time together at, or shagged in. He'd sat down one night and made a list of places to avoid and was amazed to find out how many places they'd taken advantage of each other in…the list had made him shake his head, then laugh, then eventually cry. So many memories, and he'd destroyed them all.

And for what? Because Harry was getting too close, too intimate; Draco had no problem sharing his body (as his rather _extensive_ sexual history illustrated) but his mind, his emotions, his heart…those were items he kept closely guarded. And he'd been sure, with Potter, that it would remain nothing more than a sexual relationship. A damn good one- Potter was fucking incredible in bed – but just physical, nothing more.

But Potter, damn him, hadn't been satisfied with that, and little by little had wormed his way into all the places Draco kept hidden and opened them up to the light. And even more amazing, had loved him in spite of them.

It never failed to stun him that someone who by all rights shouldn't know anything about love, knew more than anyone else he'd ever known.

And bit by bit, Potter chipped away at him, and instead of being grateful and happy to be understood and cared for, he'd drawn away and deliberately done things to sabotage their relationship…while all the time claiming he wanted exactly what Harry was giving to him.

His level of self-delusion was truly incredible, even for growing up a Malfoy.

Why Harry had taken him back the two prior times, he still didn't know, except that he knew how achingly lonely he was without him, and assumed that Potter was equally as lonely as he was. Maybe it was because he was a known quantity and there were no surprises. Maybe he was just horny.

Or maybe it was because Potter had loved him, too.

Draco stood up from the couch where he'd been lying with his arm thrown over his eyes and shoved his feet into his shoes. Harry could toss him out on the street, but he wasn't going without a fight.

One last time….winner take all. Winner take Harry for his, forever.

He had purposely taken a tiny flat just around the corner from where Harry lived; he wanted to be nearby. He had seen Harry many times in the relatively short amount of time he'd been back in the city; going out for the paper, typing away on that damnable laptop, sitting outside on the porch for a smoke…all completely innocent, normal everyday Harry moments, that were somehow harder to bear than he'd thought they would be.

But none compared to the few incidents he'd come across when Harry would bring someone else home after a night out.

He'd watch his former boyfriend walk up the steps with his arm around someone, sometimes laughing, or nuzzling, or once, kissing rather heatedly. That one had nearly caused Draco to jump the hedge separating the residences and beat the hell out of the offending date…but he'd managed to restrain himself.

Just barely.

After that, he'd resolutely turned his eyes away if he saw Harry approaching with anyone else, except Weasley or some other obviously non-romantic sort.

A shortcut through the fence, the aforementioned hedge, and through a connecting backyard and he was on Harry's back steps. The steps that might have been theirs, if he hadn't…

He knocked. And knocked. And knocked again.

Harry finallyopened the door, bleary-eyed, his hair flattened in odd places and wearing, dear God – that same ratty-assed robe. For some reason that made him want to cry.

"Jesus, Potter, you're still wearing that thing?"

"Draco, what the hell are you doing here? Besides crapping on my fashion sense, that is."

"As they say on those bad serialized stories, we need to talk."

"We _have _talked…multiple times in fact, and nothing ever changes. There's no point." He started to close the door, but Draco shoved his knee between the door and frame. "Please, Harry. Hear me out one last time, please."

The two of them stood there, staring at each other. Then Harry let go of the door, it swung open and he turned his back and walked up the stairs. "Where are you going?" called Draco after him.

"I'm going to change so you don't spend the whole time trying to snake your hand up my robe."

Draco smiled to himself. Harry knew him well.

So well.

Draco was making tea when Harry came back downstairs in jeans and t-shirt. Draco turned around and burst out laughing when he saw the shirt. "Did you happen to LOOK at which shirt you chose?" Harry looked down and snorted. "It was the only one that was clean."

"Yeah, sure." Draco remembered when Weasley had given him that shirt, emblazoned with the legend "**Save a Broom, Ride a Quidditch Player**." Harry had laughed for half an hour while Malfoy shook his head over the lack of class –expected, but still shocking – that Weasley exhibited.

Draco handed Harry his favorite Montrose Magpies mug and sat down at the table, which clearly hadn't been used in a while as evidenced by the rather thick layer of dust. Noticing Draco's expression, Harry said "I usually eat in front of the telly."

"Telly rots your brain."

"That explains so much about you then…watched any good reality shows lately?"

"There's no such thing as a good reality show; although a couple come close for the sheer camp of it all."

The two sipped their tea in a very civilized manner for about a minute until a vaguely uncomfortable Draco pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Mind if I smoke?"

Harry raised a brow. "Have I ever cared before?"

"No, but…want one?"

"No thanks…I've quit."

Now Draco's brow shot up. "Since when?"

Harry looked at the wall clock. "Since about two hours ago."

"Ah…so if memory serves, you have about an hour left before you start twitching nervously."

"Shut up… I might do it this time."

"True…you might."

Harry leaned back in his chair and propped his bare feet on the table, a habit he knew Draco hated; always had. It was childish, but he got a perverse pleasure out of it. The blonde said nothing, however, merely sipped and smoked in silence.

Harry was determined to say nothing; this hadn't been his idea after all. And he hated the fact that this…their conversation, the tea, the jabs about personal habits…was all so fucking NORMAL. It could have been any Sunday morning from the last five years. It had been a mistake to let Draco in, but then again, he was the sucker in the relationship.

**Had** been; there was no relationship any more, just residual pain.

Abruptly, Draco put his mug down and put out his cigarette. "Ok, Potter. Ready to listen?

"Always, Malfoy; it's interesting to see what new twists on an old tale you come up with every time." He made his tone as cool as possible.

Draco looked down at his hands, bare except for the heavy silver ring on his right ring finger, adorned with the Slytherin crest twining around a square cut emerald. It had been Harry's gift to him on their first anniversary; and no matter what the state of their relationship since then, he never took it off. It had melded to his hand by now and he doubted he could wrestle it off if he tried.

"I could give you a million reasons why I always fucked up. I could sit here for hours and dissect the ways I hurt you…but you know all of them. So do I. We both live with them every day. But this last time," he stopped and rubbed his face. "I went to the US and just hid. I spent every fucking day trying to figure this out…but only answer I could come up with, in all that time was this." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes briefly, and then looked up.

"You loved me, Harry. I couldn't get my mind around that. Love, to me, was always wrapped up with someone wanting something from me. Letting someone in always resulted in my getting exploited. Nothing was ever free for me. When you started getting close, all I could think is what were you going to want? What were you going to do to me when you knew me… how were you going to hurt me?

You know what they say; the best defense is a good offense. So I'd mess up, you'd call it off, we'd split up, and then, however many hours, days, maybe a week later, we'd be back together. I would have figured out a way – I thought – to keep myself safe, I would have found something plausible to tell you and apologized, and soon, things would be back the way they'd been. Until you got close again. Every time you found a new chink in my armor, I'd panic. This last time….I had no more excuses. I had nothing. You were gonna get in, there was nothing I could do, and as much as I knew deep down you'd never hurt me, I was afraid. And then, when I saw real, physical evidence of how my running away had hurt you…god, I was just…just…"

Draco stopped. He could say more, but what he'd already said had done its job. It had explained what happened and why. Now Harry knew.

Now, he'd forgive him.

Harry stood up. Draco looked up at him, hoping his eyes said how much he loved Harry, how sorry he was, how much he wanted him back. He hoped.

"Get out, Draco." Harry's voice was icy cold.

"What?"

"Get. Out. Now."

"Harry…"

"You can walk out, or I can kick you out. You choose."

"But I thought…." Draco's voice was shaking.

"You thought wrong. I'm done being your whore. I'm done being your punching bag. I'm done being your reason for everything. There is nothing more to us, and no amount of soul-searching on your part is going to make that change."

Draco stood up, desperately trying to think of what he could say, what he could do to change things. He took a step towards Harry, who didn't move. Emboldened, he took another until he was face to face with him, close enough to lean forward and kiss him…

Harry spoke.

"Try it and I'll beat the shit out of you, Malfoy. I don't want to see you, hear you or hear _of_ you ever again. Find someone else to play your little fucking mind games with; it's not going to be me ever again."

Draco's breath was coming in hard, hitching gasps as he backed away from this person who he now finally realized, he didn't know at all. Maybe he never had.

He stumbled out of the kitchen, into the hall and closed his fingers on the doorknob, then turned…he had one last thing to say.

"When you were lying in that hospital bed and I thought you were going to die…I wished I were dead too, because a life without you isn't a life I want to live."

He turned the handle and let himself out, not looking back at the man standing there.

Harry went back into the kitchen and looked at the table…the two mugs, the ashtray, the streaks on the dusty wood; as familiar a sight as anything else in their lives.

He picked up the mugs and threw them at the wall, as hard as he could, the ceramic splintering and shattering on impact. He moved to the cabinets and threw every cup, every plate, every platter, every glass against that same wall until every surface was covered in glass and china, broken, ruined.

He moved systematically to the living room, where every breakable object met the same fate, shattering against the huge wall mirror until it was a mass of veins and cracks clinging to its silvered frame.

He continued until finally, his surroundings matched his insides.

Broken.

& & &

_Two days later_…

"Are you ok, Harry?" Hermione's voice was thick with concern. She touched his arm and he managed a small smile at her. "I'll be ok, Mione. Really." She didn't look convinced but nodded, then stopped. "Wait a minute – I just want to grab the latest "Prophet" ok? Wait here." She went back to the newsstand they had just passed and bent over the counter.

Harry and Ron waited, stamping their feet to keep warm. "Damn it, Mione, hurry up, will you?" called Ron "Some of us are freezing our asses off over here!"

She came back then, her face ashen and her hands empty and shaking; she jammed them in her pockets. "Where's the paper? I want to check the scores."

She shook her head and Harry caught the glint of tears. "Never mind, Ron…there was nothing good in there anyway, today. Let's go." She began to walk away hurriedly, but Harry took her arm. "Mione?"

She looked up at him, and he turned and headed back to the stand, almost running. He stopped short when he saw the headline.

"_**Scion of wizarding house dead."**_

_Draco Malfoy, 26, last of the once- prominent wizarding Malfoy family, was pronounced dead this morning at St. Mungo's Hospital after being found barely alive last night at the last known Death Eater stronghold. He appeared to have been subjected to several curses, including a prolonged bout of Crucio, according to hospital spokespeople_

_._

_Malfoy, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a group dedicated to the eradication of Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters was apparently following a long-dormant lead as to the whereabouts of one of the last of His followers, one Fenrir Greyback, a particularly vicious werewolf who had managed to elude both the Order and Ministry of Magic Aurors…until last night. Greyback was found dead a short distance away from the wounded Malfoy, the victim of Avada Kedavra cast by Malfoy._

_The Ministry of Magic has long considered the pursuit of Greyback, easily the most dangerous of His followers, a suicide mission._

_Faithful readers will remember of course, that the Dark Lord himself was vanquished seven years ago by Harry Potter…._

The paper fell from his nerveless fingers onto the ground, where the wind caught it and blew the pages apart, the headlines scattering along the frozen ground. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could barely breathe.

"Harry." It was Ron's voice. "Come on, mate. Let's go home."

Where was home? Nowhere would ever be home again.

Draco was dead.

~ End of Part Four

19


End file.
